"It lacks Four Minutes of being Eleven o'Clock."
"Well," she remarked, in a Relieved Tone, "He must be There by this
Time, unless he has had a Puncture."
MORAL: The Cocaine and Morphine Habits can be Cured.
COGNIZANT OF OUR SHORTCOMINGS
On the deck of a Trans-Atlantic Skiff, a certain Old Traveler, who owed allegiance to George and Mary, reclined on his Cervical Vertebrae with a Plaid Shawl across him and roasted Our Native Land.
He told the American in the next Steamer Chair that he had been unable to get his Tea at the usual Hour, and out in the place called Minnie- Apples the stupid Waiter never had heard of Bloaters for Breakfast. Furthermore, he had not seen his Boots again after placing them outside the Door in Chicago.
The Houses were overheated and the Railway Carriages were not like those at Home, and the Reporters were Forward Chaps, and Ice should not be added with the Soda, because it was not being Done.
He was jolly glad to escape from the Wretched Hole and get back to his own Lodgings, where he could go into Cold Storage and have a Joint of Mutton and Brussels Sprouts as often as desired.
The Yankee cringed under the Attack and then fully agreed with the Son of amphibious Albion. He said we were a new and crude People who did not know how to wear Evening Clothes or eat Stilton Cheese, and our Politicians were corrupt, and Murderers went unpunished, while the Average Citizen was a dyspeptic Skate afflicted with Moral Strabismus.
Then he retired to his State Room to weep over the Situation, and the British Subject said: "The American is a Poltroon, for he will not defend his own Hearth and Fireside."